Let me explain.
Deep in the heart of every human being, whether they like to admit it or not, is a desire. A desire to hurt. A desire to hunt. A desire to win. My family plays a game called Loser that satisfies the desire.
In Loser, everyone starts out in the field (Loser Land), with the exception of the permanent kicker, who stands on the deck (the Winner’s Circle) . The kicker sends a large, air-filled ball sailing directly into the crowd. The person who catches it gets to come up on to the deck and become a kicker (adults need to catch two balls before they can come up). If a kicker makes an uncatchable kick, they are sent back to Loser Land, amidst jeers and cries to “Hang your head in shame!” If someone goes to catch the ball, and they miss it in a lame and embarrassing way, they are awarded a penalty. This adds another ball onto the amount that they must catch before coming up onto the deck. The last person left in the field is the Loser, and must endure ridicule and disgrace. There are no winners in the game, only one supreme loser (which, I think, says something about my family).
The thing about Loser is, there’s only one rule against violence: You can’t knock someone down if the ball is nowhere near them. Everything else is fair game. My family is violent at rest…but at play? Dear lord. Loser is a game that raises the adrenaline and the testosterone to levels that leave you growling, clawing at the air, and desperate to sink your fists into someone’s stomach. Even passive, overly chipper Andrew was a wide-eyed, snarling mess. In fact, his violence made the freaking party.
My Aunt Melissa’s boyfriend (Mark) brought his sister (Frankie) and her girlfriend (Minka) with him. Minka is blind in one eye. But did Andrew take pity on her? Not even slightly. Even though he could have easily plucked the balls from the sky, since he’s tall and everyone in my family is short, he decided he wanted a little more action. One ball went in Minka’s direction, and Andrew flew out of nowhere, and BODY CHECKED her. She went flying…and then she went ROLLING LIKE A LOG across the lawn. My ENTIRE family was screaming with laughter. I couldn’t walk, I was laughing so hard. I turned around, and I saw my dad LAYING ON THE GROUND, spread eagle, crying with laughter. It was the funniest fucking thing that ever happened. Holy shit. Of course, that was the thing that sealed the deal. Andrew has been accepted by the Palmas.
Oh, and I got hit in the face so hard that my glasses snapped in half. Whatevs. : )
Monday, May 26, 2008
Sunday, March 9, 2008
That Day That it Snowed
I’m in my bedroom right now, in underwear, socks, and a sweatshirt, soaking wet from the snow. Damn snow. I hate it with a burning, fiery passion (which is amusing, because my hate should technically be able to melt the snow, but it DOESN’T). My mom woke me up this morning by telling me to go shovel the driveway. Let me tell you people this- there is no worse way to be woken up then by being told you have work to do. Especially on your day off. I am a sullen pot of anger right now.
I found this while looking for old blogs to post (I finally got Optimum, so I’m catching up on all the stuff that would have taken fucking forever to load on aol). It’s unfinished, obviously. It’s kind of funny, because a few hours after I wrote this, I came down with the flu so bad that I was unable to walk straight for four days, and I’m still feeling some of the symptoms.
I found this while looking for old blogs to post (I finally got Optimum, so I’m catching up on all the stuff that would have taken fucking forever to load on aol). It’s unfinished, obviously. It’s kind of funny, because a few hours after I wrote this, I came down with the flu so bad that I was unable to walk straight for four days, and I’m still feeling some of the symptoms.
Another Rrrrl Old Post
I’m really bored, but also very tired right now. If I had a little common sense, I would put my ass to sleep. I mean, I do have a class in less than eight hours. But do I listen to that tiny (teensy tiny, barely even there) part of my brain that tells me to do the sensible thing? Um, fuck no. Instead I will plant myself in front of a computer screen until my eyes shrivel up and fall out onto the keyboard.
Sigh. I gots me some mad memory problems lately. It’s getting to the point that I really think I should see a doctor. Someone my age really shouldn’t have this much trouble recalling memories. And honestly, sometimes I can’t distinguish between a real memory, and the mental pictures that I stored when someone recapped an event for me. So I think I ‘remember’ things that I wasn’t even there for, and pull up blanks when I try to recall what I did two days ago. And fucking forget chronological order. I honestly can’t remember whether or not something happened two days or two years ago. But the real kicker was when, a few days ago, I couldn’t remember my first kiss with Andrew. I was seriously freaked out. It is time for a doctor’s appointment. Oh yes, it is time.
Anywhoo, I started working at Payless. Compared to KB, there is absolutely nothing to do at all. And the schedule is broken up into fewer, but longer shifts. That means, three times a week, I spend eight or more hours shuffling shoes in their boxes, and wishing for my own death. I long for the end of my shift with an unprecedented violence that actually astounds me. Not to mention that I’ve been suffering from a vicious cold, which only serves to heighten my joy at having to work.
Speaking of my cold, I totally fucking Oded on Nyquil last night. It was almost midnight, and I was exhausted. I wasn’t really thinking, or paying attention to my surroundings. I threw on my pajamas, took my pills, and curled up under my covers. Only problem was, I forgot that I usually only take half a dose of Nyquil, since I’m extra sensitive to medicine. Thirteen hours later, I awoke with weak, shivery limbs, and the feeling that if I laid back down I would sleep the rest of the day away. I felt like I was getting over the flu. What super sucked was that Andrew and I were going to hang out, and instead I spent the morning in a drug-induced coma. And I had told him that I wasn’t going to let that happen again…
I don’t know what’s been going on with me, but lately I have been spitting out poetry with alarming frequency. *woodknock* Creepy, Sylvia Plath-esque free form. *is proud of herself*
I guess I should go to bed. I am mucho tired. Peace, bitchez.
Sigh. I gots me some mad memory problems lately. It’s getting to the point that I really think I should see a doctor. Someone my age really shouldn’t have this much trouble recalling memories. And honestly, sometimes I can’t distinguish between a real memory, and the mental pictures that I stored when someone recapped an event for me. So I think I ‘remember’ things that I wasn’t even there for, and pull up blanks when I try to recall what I did two days ago. And fucking forget chronological order. I honestly can’t remember whether or not something happened two days or two years ago. But the real kicker was when, a few days ago, I couldn’t remember my first kiss with Andrew. I was seriously freaked out. It is time for a doctor’s appointment. Oh yes, it is time.
Anywhoo, I started working at Payless. Compared to KB, there is absolutely nothing to do at all. And the schedule is broken up into fewer, but longer shifts. That means, three times a week, I spend eight or more hours shuffling shoes in their boxes, and wishing for my own death. I long for the end of my shift with an unprecedented violence that actually astounds me. Not to mention that I’ve been suffering from a vicious cold, which only serves to heighten my joy at having to work.
Speaking of my cold, I totally fucking Oded on Nyquil last night. It was almost midnight, and I was exhausted. I wasn’t really thinking, or paying attention to my surroundings. I threw on my pajamas, took my pills, and curled up under my covers. Only problem was, I forgot that I usually only take half a dose of Nyquil, since I’m extra sensitive to medicine. Thirteen hours later, I awoke with weak, shivery limbs, and the feeling that if I laid back down I would sleep the rest of the day away. I felt like I was getting over the flu. What super sucked was that Andrew and I were going to hang out, and instead I spent the morning in a drug-induced coma. And I had told him that I wasn’t going to let that happen again…
I don’t know what’s been going on with me, but lately I have been spitting out poetry with alarming frequency. *woodknock* Creepy, Sylvia Plath-esque free form. *is proud of herself*
I guess I should go to bed. I am mucho tired. Peace, bitchez.
Rrrrrrl Old Blog From February
Alright, it’s time for me to write another blog. This thing is starting to look kind of bare. That, and Andrew is under the impression that we are in some sort of blog writing contest. Stupid ass freak.
Hmmm….what to write about? Oh! PUPPIES. They’re super fluffy now. Little round balls of black cotton. *resists the urge to say something really bad* Andrew and Fran came over to see them the other day. It was pretty fun. Actually, Andrew came over first for a few hours. So, we did what any couple would do with a house to themselves-- played with puppies. Duh. This is so choppy. I feel like Upton. He wrote. Wrote things. Like choppy, ya know? Rrrl choppy. Chop. Py.
Anywhoo. Me and the bitch went to see Hairspray on Thursday. Despite the biting cold, the incessant rain, the crazy black homeless man, and the hour that I didn’t speak to Andrew, I had fun.
I had wanted to leave kind of early, but of course, I had to take a drug test (cue the snickering). Stupid thing that I am, I get ready to leave for Labcorp, and GO TO THE BATHROOM. Right before I had to pee in a cup. Thank god for randomly placed cans of diet Dr.Pepper, or else my bladder would have been pushing out dust. Drug infested dust. As it was, I only managed to squeeze out just barely enough for the piss technician. I wanted to ask her how it felt to spend years in college to become a professional cup-of-urine handler, but I figured she must get enough of that from her parents. So I let her slide.
Got to Andrew’s house, and SURPRISE, the fagzilla needed to blow out and straighten his hair. So we missed the 1:11 train. And then we missed the 2:11 train too, because apparently we both suffer from some disease that makes our lips stick together. When we finally got onto the train, I fell asleep on Andrew’s shoulder and nearly cut my face open on my origami crane earring. Good times. There was a couple sitting diagonally from us, and I’m guessing that they thought they were cute. And you know what? They kind of were. But did they compare to the awesome cuteness that was BrittanyandAndrew? HELLS NO. Dumb bitches.
Penn Station hit me like it always does. It’s just a riot of people in fashionable clothing: slick black boots and tight jeans on almost every girl, pea coats and berets on the guys. Middle aged men twisting around the crowds with pin straight spines and heavy laptops. Little old ladies pushing baby carriages full of shopping bags. Asian girls with hair like sheets of oil down their backs. Black girls with doo rags and purple lips. Sudden sightings of small children. The sounds of the insane: the workhorses shouting into cell phones, the homeless beating their worries against a wall, a thousand different languages all at once…Is it just me, or does Penn have really low, thin hallways? I always feel like I’m trapped in some elegant, underground society-- an old subway tunnel filled with artwork, like a new home for the survivors of the apocalypse. I let my boyfriend hold my hand, and pull me through the throng. Sometimes it’s nice to let yourself be led. : )
We had a lot of time before the show, so we wanted to walk around the city and see the sights and shit. Ya know, normal tourist stuff. Outside the air was brittle and wet. Of course. It wasn’t raining, really. It was kind of like walking through a curtain of frozen, unmoving water. As if the air wasn’t made out of oxygen or nitrogen, but a billion tiny ice crystals. Eventually we made it to H&M (where I took a few minutes to crack the ice off my exposed skin). Andrew wanted a certain pair of sunglasses that I figured was probably made for girls, and what do you know? I was right. Shocker. They also had freaking cute bras-- and they had a grand total of one 34D. So Andrew thought it would be funny to suggest that I get a breast reduction. Fucking douche. I didn’t talk to him for an hour after that. Then I started feeling bad, cuz I didn’t want to ruin his day. He was only joking- there wasn’t enough reason for me to put him I a bad mood before he saw the show.
As for the show itself, I loved it. It was mucho different from the movie. Definitely funnier. Some things, however, I liked better on screen. For instance, Corny Collins. And two of my favorite songs weren’t in the play (New Girl in Town, and Ladies’ Choice). But other stuff was better in the play. Like Tracy. I’m not talking about the actors- I actually kind of liked movie-Tracy’s voice better. But the character they made for the play is a lot funnier. The Penny in the play was a thousand times better than anything Amanda Bynes could ever dream of. I guess it’s because in a theater, the characters have to be more dramatic, because the audience can’t see their faces. You lose the dynamics of facial expression, which need to made up in voice and body movement. The theater itself was gorgeous, and the guy I was sitting next to was really cute. I sort of wanted to jump his bones. Haha.
After the play we waited for the actors, but they didn’t seem to care about us, since we weren’t little kids. So we departed in search of yummies. Using my amazing Chinese Buffet radar skillz, I found one of those overpriced, under stocked restaurants. The waitresses were really fucking creepy. They stood over us like hawks and jabbered away in Chinese with their hands over their mouths. Now, what is the point of that? As if we can fucking understand you anyway. Why bother hiding your mouth? Are we going to read your damn lips? I think not.
On the train ride home I thought we would have an entire section of the train to ourselves. I had plans to break out the wine (and maybe the sex dice) and really end the night on a high note. So of course, the train was jam packed, and Andrew and I wound up sharing one of those five chair sections with some old dude. He sat across from me, so I couldn’t move my legs. That really sucked, because I felt like I had bugs jumping around inside my calves. And I was half a second away from not caring that Andrew and I had an audience. Damn old man. Damn teenagers everywhere.
But what was my favorite part of the day? Hmmm….it was when someone said something to someone else that made the someone happy somewhere (not in someone’s pants, you pervs!). *huge smile* Mind your own business, you fucking whores.
*kiss*
I love you all.
(except for Andrew)
Hmmm….what to write about? Oh! PUPPIES. They’re super fluffy now. Little round balls of black cotton. *resists the urge to say something really bad* Andrew and Fran came over to see them the other day. It was pretty fun. Actually, Andrew came over first for a few hours. So, we did what any couple would do with a house to themselves-- played with puppies. Duh. This is so choppy. I feel like Upton. He wrote. Wrote things. Like choppy, ya know? Rrrl choppy. Chop. Py.
Anywhoo. Me and the bitch went to see Hairspray on Thursday. Despite the biting cold, the incessant rain, the crazy black homeless man, and the hour that I didn’t speak to Andrew, I had fun.
I had wanted to leave kind of early, but of course, I had to take a drug test (cue the snickering). Stupid thing that I am, I get ready to leave for Labcorp, and GO TO THE BATHROOM. Right before I had to pee in a cup. Thank god for randomly placed cans of diet Dr.Pepper, or else my bladder would have been pushing out dust. Drug infested dust. As it was, I only managed to squeeze out just barely enough for the piss technician. I wanted to ask her how it felt to spend years in college to become a professional cup-of-urine handler, but I figured she must get enough of that from her parents. So I let her slide.
Got to Andrew’s house, and SURPRISE, the fagzilla needed to blow out and straighten his hair. So we missed the 1:11 train. And then we missed the 2:11 train too, because apparently we both suffer from some disease that makes our lips stick together. When we finally got onto the train, I fell asleep on Andrew’s shoulder and nearly cut my face open on my origami crane earring. Good times. There was a couple sitting diagonally from us, and I’m guessing that they thought they were cute. And you know what? They kind of were. But did they compare to the awesome cuteness that was BrittanyandAndrew? HELLS NO. Dumb bitches.
Penn Station hit me like it always does. It’s just a riot of people in fashionable clothing: slick black boots and tight jeans on almost every girl, pea coats and berets on the guys. Middle aged men twisting around the crowds with pin straight spines and heavy laptops. Little old ladies pushing baby carriages full of shopping bags. Asian girls with hair like sheets of oil down their backs. Black girls with doo rags and purple lips. Sudden sightings of small children. The sounds of the insane: the workhorses shouting into cell phones, the homeless beating their worries against a wall, a thousand different languages all at once…Is it just me, or does Penn have really low, thin hallways? I always feel like I’m trapped in some elegant, underground society-- an old subway tunnel filled with artwork, like a new home for the survivors of the apocalypse. I let my boyfriend hold my hand, and pull me through the throng. Sometimes it’s nice to let yourself be led. : )
We had a lot of time before the show, so we wanted to walk around the city and see the sights and shit. Ya know, normal tourist stuff. Outside the air was brittle and wet. Of course. It wasn’t raining, really. It was kind of like walking through a curtain of frozen, unmoving water. As if the air wasn’t made out of oxygen or nitrogen, but a billion tiny ice crystals. Eventually we made it to H&M (where I took a few minutes to crack the ice off my exposed skin). Andrew wanted a certain pair of sunglasses that I figured was probably made for girls, and what do you know? I was right. Shocker. They also had freaking cute bras-- and they had a grand total of one 34D. So Andrew thought it would be funny to suggest that I get a breast reduction. Fucking douche. I didn’t talk to him for an hour after that. Then I started feeling bad, cuz I didn’t want to ruin his day. He was only joking- there wasn’t enough reason for me to put him I a bad mood before he saw the show.
As for the show itself, I loved it. It was mucho different from the movie. Definitely funnier. Some things, however, I liked better on screen. For instance, Corny Collins. And two of my favorite songs weren’t in the play (New Girl in Town, and Ladies’ Choice). But other stuff was better in the play. Like Tracy. I’m not talking about the actors- I actually kind of liked movie-Tracy’s voice better. But the character they made for the play is a lot funnier. The Penny in the play was a thousand times better than anything Amanda Bynes could ever dream of. I guess it’s because in a theater, the characters have to be more dramatic, because the audience can’t see their faces. You lose the dynamics of facial expression, which need to made up in voice and body movement. The theater itself was gorgeous, and the guy I was sitting next to was really cute. I sort of wanted to jump his bones. Haha.
After the play we waited for the actors, but they didn’t seem to care about us, since we weren’t little kids. So we departed in search of yummies. Using my amazing Chinese Buffet radar skillz, I found one of those overpriced, under stocked restaurants. The waitresses were really fucking creepy. They stood over us like hawks and jabbered away in Chinese with their hands over their mouths. Now, what is the point of that? As if we can fucking understand you anyway. Why bother hiding your mouth? Are we going to read your damn lips? I think not.
On the train ride home I thought we would have an entire section of the train to ourselves. I had plans to break out the wine (and maybe the sex dice) and really end the night on a high note. So of course, the train was jam packed, and Andrew and I wound up sharing one of those five chair sections with some old dude. He sat across from me, so I couldn’t move my legs. That really sucked, because I felt like I had bugs jumping around inside my calves. And I was half a second away from not caring that Andrew and I had an audience. Damn old man. Damn teenagers everywhere.
But what was my favorite part of the day? Hmmm….it was when someone said something to someone else that made the someone happy somewhere (not in someone’s pants, you pervs!). *huge smile* Mind your own business, you fucking whores.
*kiss*
I love you all.
(except for Andrew)
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
My Mafia Christmas
This is a blog I wrote some time last week or whatever:
It’s the day after Christmas, and wow, has a lot happened. First off, let’s talk about Christmas Eve with the Palmas. There’s really something to be said for spending the holidays with a bunch of crazy Italians who think it’s funny to use a box of constipation medication as a trophy (it is funny, by the way). But more on that later.
December 24th
This Christmas Eve was kind of bittersweet for me. Sweet, because I was with my family; bitter, because my idiot boyfriend didn’t convert to Judaism in time to ditch his family and spend xmas eve with me. It seemed like everything I saw was trying to remind me of the fact that Andrew wasn’t there. I mean, seriously, is it really necessary for my sister and cousins to hang all over their boyfriends in front of me? IS IT? Because I’m pretty sure they could have just recognized the fact that I was sad, and sat at least five feet away from each other at all times. Not that I like Andrew, or anything. Can’t stand the dumb fucker. But it would have been nice to see him (let’s ignore the fact that I spent the first half of the day with him, including an entire hour of trying to say goodbye to each other in my car. He’s such a fucking fag).
Anywhoo, let’s discuss the highlights of the night, shall we? First off, at exactly nine o’clock, my cousin Michelle had to make an important phone call, which she thought we would enjoy. So us older grandkids and nieces went outside and crammed ourselves into my sister’s boyfriend’s car. Michelle explains the story to us. Seems she likes to meet random guys online, make up their perfect girl, and then totally fuck with their heads. The one she was going to call thought she had lived in Italy most of her life, before moving to New York two years ago. He says he’s in love with her, and actually proposed (mind you, they’ve never met, just Imed and talked on the phone). So she puts her cell on speaker and calls him. When she talks to him she uses this practically unidentifiable accent, and calls him Papi. It was mucho disturbing, and everyone pretty much crapped themselves trying not to laugh out loud. And then this fucking guy starts a screaming match with his brother, forgets all about Michelle, and basically makes an ass out of himself. All I could hear was him yelling about a retarded douche bag who ‘turned my tv off!’ Michelle had to hang up three times to keep him from hearing us all shriek with laughter. And then her dad appeared outside her window and opened the car door. He took in our flushed faces and streaming red eyes, and sniffed the air. “It smells funny in here,” he remarked, giving us all the eye, before turning around and walking away. It was hysterical. My pants are still wet.
Then we had our annual Christmas Eve presents. That started because my Nana actually has a whole other Christmas held in early January, for her kids and grandkids only. My second cousins don’t go to that, so they get their presents at Christmas Eve. For some reason, my Nana and Boompa thought that the rest of us would get jealous, despite the fact that we’d be getting an insane amount of gifts from them in a few days. So they give us all gifts. I’m technically not supposed to get anything, since I’m over 18 (adults do the ‘bad santa swap’), but my grandparents spoil the shit out of me. I got pajamas, a border’s gift card, and (drum roll please) a listening device, so I can spy on mother fuckers doing bad shit.
The Bad Santa Swap was fucking hysterical. My mom literally almost pissed all over the floor. Of course, I narrowly avoided a horrifically tactless moment. There were super corroded batteries in the creepy Chinese black guy alarm clock that I gave, so I wanted to tell whoever got it not to touch them, cuz they were little cancer sticks. And who winds up with the damned thing? The one person in the group who actually had cancer (thank god I remembered that, cuz I was already opening my mouth to say it before I realized who it was). I don’t know-- it struck me as something Fran would find amusing. I somehow wound up with two ugly presents: an extremely odd framed picture of Hillary Clinton, and statues of the three wise black men.
And then finally, we awarded the Enema. You may be wondering, what on earth is the Enema? Isn’t that a suppository? Don’t you stick those up your ass when you can’t go to the bathroom? To this I answer, not quite. Yes, an enema is indeed meant to be rammed up your asshole. But it’s more than that. In our family, we pass around an empty enema box once a year. The Enema is given to the Palma who has done the dumbest thing all year. Some previous winning moments are: leaving a party and forgetting your youngest child, ramming your car into a completely stationary dumpster, and going to a concert, using Tylenol as earplugs, and then having to remove them with pliers once they start to melt inside your head (good job, dad). The winner from the previous year has the final say on who wins. This year, yours truly was up for the win, for hitting into a car right in front of my school, but then my aunt remembered something that happened in the summer, and I was spared the humiliation. She awarded the Enema to her father, my Boompa, for running down a Mr. Softie man and bawling him out for playing his music too loudly. I love my family.
This is shaping up to be a seriously long blog. Jesus.
December 25th
Before Christmas, my parents told me that because I had crashed my car, they wouldn’t have enough money to do big presents this year. They are both full of shit. We all finished opening our presents, and were chilling around, playing with our stuff, when my mom and dad come out of their room with two big boxes, and one HUGE box. Frankie opened the biggest one. It was FULL of xbox 360 games, and pretty much everything the little brat had asked for. Devon and I had identical boxes, which we were told to open at the same time. I tore my paper off, and revealed a cardboard box with ‘Dell’ printed on the side. I tried not to get my hopes up, thinking that maybe they had just stuck my gift in a random box, and then I heard Devon squeal. I looked over, and there she was, face glowing as if she were pregnant with Jesus himself, a shiny black laptop in her hands. I looked down at mine, and there it was. The same thing in apple red. Probably the coolest thing EVER. And they’re both reeeaally nice, too. Like, insanely nice. The best money can buy (just don’t ask me where the fuck my ghetto poor family found the money to buy these). Now all I have to do is wait for my dad to get the wireless router, and I’ll never have to leave my room again. Of course, I now have no excuse not to write a novel.
At two we trucked over to my Grammy and Banana’s house, to celebrate with my mom’s side of the family. Devon and I were pretty much glued to our laptops. Until of course, we showed our parents youtube. Before we knew what was happening, my dad had taken mine to watch live videos of the Beatles, and my mom took Devon’s to watch videos of squirrels being shot. Most of the rest of the family was playing guitar hero in the den. My Aunt Jen is crazy good at it. It’s sick. Then we had dinner (delicious) and opened presents (awesome). And then the climax of the night: the annual nerf war. For the past five or six years, my grandparents have given my dad and my Uncle Rob nerf guns for Christmas. Last year, my family snuck our own arsenal in our jackets, and totally dominated. This year, we decided not to cheat (except for me bringing a box cutter so my dad could open his gun faster). But Uncle Rob did. He gathered all of his sons’ nerf stuff, put it in a garbage bag, and stashed it just outside the front door. Sneaky bastard. But did it help them in the end? *smiles smugly* Maybe, maybe not. As noncombatants, my sister and I were on ammo duty. That is, when our dad is shot at, we dive all over the floor picking up the darts to give to him. But, as always, Devon and I decided to be sneaky little bitches. She was deliberately taunting the kids so they’d shoot at her and she could take their darts. I was slinking underneath tables, sliding between the bars of chairs (I felt so skinny-- guess I’m winning, Andrew), and sneaking into enemy territory. I stole their bazooka launchers. They never even noticed me, even though I was right in the middle of them. Imagine the look on my uncle’s face when Devon and I suddenly stood up with two fully loaded bazookas aimed at his face. But I’m not really a combatant, not deep down. I prefer subtlety. I prefer sabotage. So I stole their secret bag of ammo, and began collecting all the darts, even popping up out of nowhere and plucking them right off the guns. Then I hid the bazookas. It was fucking awesome. I might have actually broken a sweat. And possibly my nose. But we won, and that’s all that matters.
December 26th
First day of wintersession. I have two classes- English and pilates. So I get to read and work out, which, honestly, is my idea of fun. I can’t wait to lose weight and kick Andrew’s fucking ass. What have you lost so far, bitch? I bet I’m winning. And I know exactly what I’m going to make you do when I win, but I’m not going to tell you now. Haha.
It’s the day after Christmas, and wow, has a lot happened. First off, let’s talk about Christmas Eve with the Palmas. There’s really something to be said for spending the holidays with a bunch of crazy Italians who think it’s funny to use a box of constipation medication as a trophy (it is funny, by the way). But more on that later.
December 24th
This Christmas Eve was kind of bittersweet for me. Sweet, because I was with my family; bitter, because my idiot boyfriend didn’t convert to Judaism in time to ditch his family and spend xmas eve with me. It seemed like everything I saw was trying to remind me of the fact that Andrew wasn’t there. I mean, seriously, is it really necessary for my sister and cousins to hang all over their boyfriends in front of me? IS IT? Because I’m pretty sure they could have just recognized the fact that I was sad, and sat at least five feet away from each other at all times. Not that I like Andrew, or anything. Can’t stand the dumb fucker. But it would have been nice to see him (let’s ignore the fact that I spent the first half of the day with him, including an entire hour of trying to say goodbye to each other in my car. He’s such a fucking fag).
Anywhoo, let’s discuss the highlights of the night, shall we? First off, at exactly nine o’clock, my cousin Michelle had to make an important phone call, which she thought we would enjoy. So us older grandkids and nieces went outside and crammed ourselves into my sister’s boyfriend’s car. Michelle explains the story to us. Seems she likes to meet random guys online, make up their perfect girl, and then totally fuck with their heads. The one she was going to call thought she had lived in Italy most of her life, before moving to New York two years ago. He says he’s in love with her, and actually proposed (mind you, they’ve never met, just Imed and talked on the phone). So she puts her cell on speaker and calls him. When she talks to him she uses this practically unidentifiable accent, and calls him Papi. It was mucho disturbing, and everyone pretty much crapped themselves trying not to laugh out loud. And then this fucking guy starts a screaming match with his brother, forgets all about Michelle, and basically makes an ass out of himself. All I could hear was him yelling about a retarded douche bag who ‘turned my tv off!’ Michelle had to hang up three times to keep him from hearing us all shriek with laughter. And then her dad appeared outside her window and opened the car door. He took in our flushed faces and streaming red eyes, and sniffed the air. “It smells funny in here,” he remarked, giving us all the eye, before turning around and walking away. It was hysterical. My pants are still wet.
Then we had our annual Christmas Eve presents. That started because my Nana actually has a whole other Christmas held in early January, for her kids and grandkids only. My second cousins don’t go to that, so they get their presents at Christmas Eve. For some reason, my Nana and Boompa thought that the rest of us would get jealous, despite the fact that we’d be getting an insane amount of gifts from them in a few days. So they give us all gifts. I’m technically not supposed to get anything, since I’m over 18 (adults do the ‘bad santa swap’), but my grandparents spoil the shit out of me. I got pajamas, a border’s gift card, and (drum roll please) a listening device, so I can spy on mother fuckers doing bad shit.
The Bad Santa Swap was fucking hysterical. My mom literally almost pissed all over the floor. Of course, I narrowly avoided a horrifically tactless moment. There were super corroded batteries in the creepy Chinese black guy alarm clock that I gave, so I wanted to tell whoever got it not to touch them, cuz they were little cancer sticks. And who winds up with the damned thing? The one person in the group who actually had cancer (thank god I remembered that, cuz I was already opening my mouth to say it before I realized who it was). I don’t know-- it struck me as something Fran would find amusing. I somehow wound up with two ugly presents: an extremely odd framed picture of Hillary Clinton, and statues of the three wise black men.
And then finally, we awarded the Enema. You may be wondering, what on earth is the Enema? Isn’t that a suppository? Don’t you stick those up your ass when you can’t go to the bathroom? To this I answer, not quite. Yes, an enema is indeed meant to be rammed up your asshole. But it’s more than that. In our family, we pass around an empty enema box once a year. The Enema is given to the Palma who has done the dumbest thing all year. Some previous winning moments are: leaving a party and forgetting your youngest child, ramming your car into a completely stationary dumpster, and going to a concert, using Tylenol as earplugs, and then having to remove them with pliers once they start to melt inside your head (good job, dad). The winner from the previous year has the final say on who wins. This year, yours truly was up for the win, for hitting into a car right in front of my school, but then my aunt remembered something that happened in the summer, and I was spared the humiliation. She awarded the Enema to her father, my Boompa, for running down a Mr. Softie man and bawling him out for playing his music too loudly. I love my family.
This is shaping up to be a seriously long blog. Jesus.
December 25th
Before Christmas, my parents told me that because I had crashed my car, they wouldn’t have enough money to do big presents this year. They are both full of shit. We all finished opening our presents, and were chilling around, playing with our stuff, when my mom and dad come out of their room with two big boxes, and one HUGE box. Frankie opened the biggest one. It was FULL of xbox 360 games, and pretty much everything the little brat had asked for. Devon and I had identical boxes, which we were told to open at the same time. I tore my paper off, and revealed a cardboard box with ‘Dell’ printed on the side. I tried not to get my hopes up, thinking that maybe they had just stuck my gift in a random box, and then I heard Devon squeal. I looked over, and there she was, face glowing as if she were pregnant with Jesus himself, a shiny black laptop in her hands. I looked down at mine, and there it was. The same thing in apple red. Probably the coolest thing EVER. And they’re both reeeaally nice, too. Like, insanely nice. The best money can buy (just don’t ask me where the fuck my ghetto poor family found the money to buy these). Now all I have to do is wait for my dad to get the wireless router, and I’ll never have to leave my room again. Of course, I now have no excuse not to write a novel.
At two we trucked over to my Grammy and Banana’s house, to celebrate with my mom’s side of the family. Devon and I were pretty much glued to our laptops. Until of course, we showed our parents youtube. Before we knew what was happening, my dad had taken mine to watch live videos of the Beatles, and my mom took Devon’s to watch videos of squirrels being shot. Most of the rest of the family was playing guitar hero in the den. My Aunt Jen is crazy good at it. It’s sick. Then we had dinner (delicious) and opened presents (awesome). And then the climax of the night: the annual nerf war. For the past five or six years, my grandparents have given my dad and my Uncle Rob nerf guns for Christmas. Last year, my family snuck our own arsenal in our jackets, and totally dominated. This year, we decided not to cheat (except for me bringing a box cutter so my dad could open his gun faster). But Uncle Rob did. He gathered all of his sons’ nerf stuff, put it in a garbage bag, and stashed it just outside the front door. Sneaky bastard. But did it help them in the end? *smiles smugly* Maybe, maybe not. As noncombatants, my sister and I were on ammo duty. That is, when our dad is shot at, we dive all over the floor picking up the darts to give to him. But, as always, Devon and I decided to be sneaky little bitches. She was deliberately taunting the kids so they’d shoot at her and she could take their darts. I was slinking underneath tables, sliding between the bars of chairs (I felt so skinny-- guess I’m winning, Andrew), and sneaking into enemy territory. I stole their bazooka launchers. They never even noticed me, even though I was right in the middle of them. Imagine the look on my uncle’s face when Devon and I suddenly stood up with two fully loaded bazookas aimed at his face. But I’m not really a combatant, not deep down. I prefer subtlety. I prefer sabotage. So I stole their secret bag of ammo, and began collecting all the darts, even popping up out of nowhere and plucking them right off the guns. Then I hid the bazookas. It was fucking awesome. I might have actually broken a sweat. And possibly my nose. But we won, and that’s all that matters.
December 26th
First day of wintersession. I have two classes- English and pilates. So I get to read and work out, which, honestly, is my idea of fun. I can’t wait to lose weight and kick Andrew’s fucking ass. What have you lost so far, bitch? I bet I’m winning. And I know exactly what I’m going to make you do when I win, but I’m not going to tell you now. Haha.
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